Und So Geht Es
by LemurPirate
Summary: Comicverse, Johann's point of view. Just some pointless rambling. Johann thinks about the circumstances that brought him to the BPRD and what it means to be a "freak".


Disclaimer: I want to be Mike Mignola. Alas, I am not, so although I wrote this, it does not legally belong to me. If you want, you can have my money, but I'd rather you didn't take it – it's not very much, and I need it to go to Disneyland with my best friend in December.

Spoilers: nothing serious. If you haven't read Johann's origin you might be in trouble. And that's in e-comic form now, so there's really no excuse for not having read it.

Notes: Um... you movie people who haven't taken the time to read the comics. GO DO SO NOW. Don't get me wrong, I love you all, and I really love the fact that you enjoy something that Mike Mignola was involved in – I'm all about the love – but you will be hopelessly lost with my fics if you haven't read that comics. Just a warning.

Actually, if you liked the movie, I GUARANTEE that you will like the comics – unless you're a Kroenen fan, or a really, really, REALLY hardcore Hellboy/Liz fan. Or you're illiterate. In which case... why are you reading this?

And one more thing... sorry I sounded like such a bitch in the note on my last fic. I'd had a really bad day. I failed a game of DDR and didn't get the job I'd applied for – a job that I really, really, really need (see disclaimer). So I apologize to any Hellboy/Liz shippers who may have been offended. SO, now that that's all behind us, on to the fic. Hope you enjoy this one.

Und So Geht Es (And So It Goes)

_I ain't got no-body_

_And no-body cares_

_For me_

I heard Liz singing that once. I took it and made it mine. It's what I do.

I never could sing, really. Tone-deaf was what my music teacher called me, although an acquaintance of mine once pointed out that people who are truly tone-deaf are very rare indeed.

That was when I wasn't a rare sort of person.

It's not so bad, really. It gets boring, not having to sleep – most people don't realize that being awake twice as long as everyone else means you have twice as much time on you hands - and I do miss certain things, like taste, and the feel of having human skin. When something touches the suit, I feel it, but it's not quite the same as having skin complete with all it's little nerves and veins and cells.

I don't have to worry about dieing, either, at least not from natural causes. When you have no body, age has no meaning. I realize that this means that, barring any unforeseen circumstances (a phrase that seems ridiculous in this line of work), I will outlive all of my dear friends here at the bureau, but that – _Gottwillen_ – is many years away, and I never was one to dwell on the events of the future, or the past.

And yet, when it's late and everyone else is asleep – except for Kate, of course, but she's usually buried in paperwork or research – and there's nothing on TV and the library hasn't received that book I requested yet, I start to think about Chengdou.

I was just a man, like any other. I was even fairly good-looking. I had a date the next evening with a girl from Bucharest, a writer named Emma. I liked fine restaurants, and wine after dinner, and reading by the fire. Then, I could feel warmth, and it was most pleasant. It was a quiet life. I knew of this world, and of those who lived in it – people like Abe and Liz, with nowhere else to go – but I was not one of those people, and I did not care to explore that world.

I was just doing my job, like any other worker. Granted, it was a rather unusual job, but I liked it. I enjoyed the feeling of helping people put their grief to rest by aiding them in contacting their departed loved ones – like a rather unorthodox family therapist. I made a good living this way. I desired no more than what I had.

Kate said that I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, which is true. It was mere chance, _Übereinstimmung_.

Ah, well. _So ist leben_. What is the phrase I heard used the other day – there is no use crying over spilled milk. Or, in my case, spilled ectoplasm.

"Doesn't it ever bother you?" Abe asked me once.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"How people stare at you. Like you're a freak."

"Abraham, I am a freak," I told him. "I simply see no problem with it. I did not choose to be this way, to look the way I do. The people who stare are only curious. Curiosity is natural, even healthy. It is a very human characteristic."

I do not think he understood. But that is simply Abraham's way. Mine is a different way. I believe in the ultimate good of mankind.

I believe that people are naturally accepting and open-minded creatures.

What else can I believe, being who – and what - I am?

God willing

coincidence

So (such) is life


End file.
